Kept Boy to Made Man - 25. Situational Awareness

“It’s been quite the week.” Roger looked up to find Mike Schultz and Chris O’Malley walking towards him; the DA’s understated declaration made Roger laugh as he allowed the tension he felt to dissipate.

The gym was emptying quickly as almost everyone in attendance chose to follow Thomas and Brendon around the old building hoping to hear the teenagers talk in detail about what they envisioned for the space.

“You three make quite a team,” the judge said seriously. “I can’t believe what you and Thomas have accomplished in such a short time, and I don’t just mean the foundation or even the rescued kids. Thomas is a whole new person, and if I may, it seems like you are as well.”

Roger thought about the big Irishman’s words. It was easy to get lost in the trauma and tasks surrounding him, but Chris was right. Roger had changed as much, or maybe even more, than Thomas. Stepping out of the jail after meeting Thomas had felt like stepping into his purpose. He now had someone to care about and care for which was forcing him to deal with his own past.

With Eddie’s death, the scared, wounded teenager in Roger’s mind had grown strangely quiet. Nothing was holding him back, even if that had been true for the past six years with the man in prison. It was painfully obvious in hindsight that Roger’s current cage was largely self-created. He had simply lacked the self-esteem and motivation to step free.

“He rescued me as much as I rescued him. I am grateful to you both for the roles you have played.” Roger refused to cry; he had shed too many tears in the past week, and knew the weeks to come would likely draw still more.

“Well, the world is a better place with the two of you living freely in it.” Mike’s job was to put people in prison, but it was rewarding the see the incredible impact his unofficial call to Roger Cicero was having on numerous lives beyond the unjustly prosecuted teenager’s.

. . .

Thomas and Brendon suggested splitting into two groups, but after their compelling joint presentation, several people mentioned they would prefer for the teenagers to lead the large group together. They mounted the stairs at the far end of the school’s long, main hallway. Thomas explained what they would find on the upper floor as the climbed, trying to speak loudly for those trailing far behind.

“The upper floor is all classrooms apart from the small bathrooms halfway down on the left. Half of the rooms have views of Burnham Park, Morgan Point Beach, and the lake.” Most only peeked into the various classrooms as they walked slowly back towards the front of the building. “Brendon and I both grew up in Hyde Park just south of here. Some of my happiest memories happened in Burnham or in Jackson Park just south of here.”

Brendon reached for Thomas’ hand, only a little self-consciously. He shared many of the memories Thomas alluded to. Those green spaces had afforded them the opportunity to explore the world and their relationship away from the often oppressive and sometimes unsafe places in which they lived. Their bicycles had been their most valued possessions due to the escape they facilitated.

“I think the upstairs will be a great place for an art room and maybe a music room. The rooms over-looking the lake remind me of the place I live now. I watched my first sunrise a few days ago. Lake Michigan has helped me a lot as I’ve tried to figure out my thoughts and feelings.” Thomas also refused to cry.

The group, which had broken into smaller groups of friends and acquaintances reached the front staircase. Brendon took over.

“We’ll go back down. The door you arrived at is one floor down, but we’ll go down to the basement next since everyone saw the first floor already.” Brendon’s words were somewhat difficult to hear over several whispered conversations.

The bottom level, while half underground, did not feel like a basement. The ceilings were high, and windows let natural light into the rooms on each side of the hallway. The classrooms they encountered first were much like the ones on the upper two floors but felt cooler and less open due to their partially subterranean location.

“Down here is where a lot of the immediate work needs to be done. We were thinking the classrooms would make decent temporary bedrooms while we figure out how to make dorms next door,” Thomas explained.

Many of the adults broke off and began discussing what it would take to make the small classrooms feel safe and homey. The tall ceilings and open space would make that a difficult task. As the tour continued, several people stayed behind consumed by the challenge.

“On the left, there are both boys’ and girls’ bathrooms. These are bigger than the ones upstairs because they also have showers and changing areas, probably for gym class and sports, and stuff,” Brendon pointed to the rooms as they passed. “They feel pretty old but look okay considering the building hasn’t been a school for a long time. They will be the main bathrooms for anyone living here.”

The group lost several more members who decided to assess the work needed, both in the short term, but also in the weeks and months to come. Those that were still following the teenagers entered the large open space directly under the gym.

“We are pretty sure this was a cafeteria. There is a small kitchen over here,” Thomas turned left towards a set of swinging wooden doors.

“Órale! Qué lío!” Juan couldn’t help but smile as several heads turned towards his excited mother.

Rosa moved past the teenage guides and into the kitchen that clearly hadn’t been updated since the fifties or sixties. After checking in with Special Agents Thompson and Jones, who agreed to stay with both Oliver, Micah and the twins, the detective pulled his notebook and pen free and signaled the Marine Corps Corporal at his side to follow.

“As you can see, it’s old too,” Brendon said to the small group of people still paying attention to the tour. “The gas and electric are on again, but we have no idea if any of this stuff still works.”

It was a much smaller group that climbed the stairs back to the gym. Peter, Sam, and Melissa held hands with the twins and Joshua, while John and Devon followed behind Mary and Micah. The Morrisons, the Major, and Jim Thompson were steps behind Oliver, who was hanging on the teenagers’ every word.

“Is this really where my brothers will be staying now?” Oliver’s question was asked quietly, and his emotions were difficult to read, even for Thomas.

“I hope so. You as well, bro. Bren and I hope a lot of boys will be able to call this home.” Thomas watched his young friend closely.

At the mention of ‘home,’ Oliver’s emotions flooded to the surface. He had lost his home and never dared hope he would have one again. Thomas was in front of the younger boy in an instant. Like he had with Micah, Thomas held his arms open wide and waited for Oliver to fall into them.

“It’s okay to cry.” Thomas shared the same permission he had been given so many times in the past few days. “It will take some time, but we will figure everything out together, okay? You and your brothers survived, Oli, but you lived through hell. I know what it feels like to believe your life is over, even to wish everything would just end, but we’re going to learn how to live again.”

“I’m all used up,” Oliver sobbed, repeating the words that defined how he viewed himself.

“You have been used Oli, but you are not used up. Just like this building, remember?” Thomas reminded the boy of the words he had spoken so recently.

Thomas’ words hit Billy hard. His hell ended twenty years before, but he had never truly learned how to live free of the horror’s he had survived. The man felt Sally slip under his arm as she often did when he retreated into his damaged mind. Billy bent and kissed the top of his wife’s head, realizing that she and Thomas Cicero were a lot alike.

Micah watched Thomas comfort another abused boy. He too had been listening and watching. He knew all about hell. Mary had been a bright light in his almost pitch-black world. Micah glanced at the girl to find her penetrating gaze searching his soul. Boy tried to come forward, but Micah pushed the protective side of his personality away. He wanted to learn to live again as well.

Tony Fatone thought back to his time in Germany a lifetime ago. Seeing the emaciated and defeated people, animated but barely alive, had overwhelmed and motivated him. He had become a leader in the weeks and months after the concentration camp’s liberation, volunteering to stay as the main force moved on. The old man recognized the effects of long term, unspeakable abuse in the eyes of the two boys before him.

As the older boy comforted the younger, the retired soldier marveled at both the vision and determination of the teens who wanted to change the future for the boys rescued from the farm. It was a vision worth supporting.

Unlike his friends, Tony wasn’t needed to milk cows or complete the almost endless chores required to maintain a farm. In truth, he hadn’t felt truly needed until the day before when Sally had called to ask him for his help with Billy. He had arrived to find the man he thought of as a son spiraling out of control after rescuing Oliver from the alleged Russian spies on the neighboring farm. Tony had also met Oliver, whose trauma reminded him of a time when he mattered.

Peter and John were both lost in their own thoughts. The sight before them stood in stark contrast to the professional and cutthroat worlds they lived in. Watching a twelve-year-old boy declare he had no future was sobering. Watching a seventeen-year-old tell the boy he was mistaken was a challenge the adult men found difficult to ignore.

It was Joshua who broke the heaviness of the moment as he impatiently pulled away from his estranged aunt. He had been well behaved, but the toddler was at the end of his ability to sit still. Sam smiled at Melissa’s young nephew whom she had just met but already adored.

“I think the kids need to run around a bit,” she said, laughing at the excited looks her words elicited from the twin boys at her side.

Brendon smiled before offering up the gym and the foam ball he had found earlier. Mary and Micah joined Joshua and the twins while Thomas and Oliver pulled away from their tight embrace.

“Do you want to help us make this place feel alive again?” Thomas asked the boy while wiping away his tears.

Oliver’s mind wrestled with his past and the future Thomas had painted. He wanted to live but wasn’t convinced he could. He nodded as a tiny spark of hope flickered to life in the darkness of his thoughts.

. . .

“Mr. and Mrs. White?” Robert Fenton called as he approached the FBI Field Office’s visitor lobby.

Three heads turned to find the thin, young psychologist and a taller, nervous-looking Asian man approaching. The Whites were nauseous with nerves and anticipation.

“Where’s my son?” Jennifer White didn’t even consider polite formalities as the long and torturous hours on top of thirteen months of fearful uncertainty finally seemed to be nearing their end.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Robert Fenton and this is Special Agent Qian Chang.” Robert observed the anxious family before asking, “Would it be okay if we all used first names from here on?”

Travis nodded, but Jennifer simply stared in desperation at the men between her and her eldest son. Jasper stared up at the adults thinking only of his big brother.

“Please follow me,” Robert said. “I have a small conference room set up with refreshments where we can talk. You will see Oliver soon, but I’d like to discuss your son’s experience and introduce you to some people who can best prepare you to reunite with the young man Oliver is today.”

Robert avoided mentioning that Oliver wasn’t in the building. He knew time with Qian and the other boys could save the small family years of heartache and counseling if the Whites took advantage of the opportunity to listen and learn. It wasn’t lost on the man how difficult it would be for them to be patient now that they knew their son and brother was alive, however.

After a short and awkward elevator ride, Robert purposefully took the long way to the room he had prepared. He hoped to avoid the glass walled room where the Oliver’s other brothers were still being interviewed about their experiences and pasts.

The Whites declined the offer of pastries, but Robert gave them each a bottle of water without asking. Qian, meanwhile, sat across the conference table staring at the family with unseeing eyes as he searched his own thoughts, feelings, and memories.

The man hadn’t had the opportunity to reunite with his parents. He escaped his captors at the age of thirteen, knowing little English and having never attended school. The State of California, and Los Angeles County did everything they could for the young teenager. He was placed with a Chinese American family that tried to love him despite his extreme hot and cold emotions and lack of education.

Qian had applied his energy first to learning English beyond the trade words he had needed to know to stay alive. Finding the family he didn’t remember was not as important as learning what he needed to know to survive in the large and unknown world he found himself living in. The presence of Oliver’s family broke through another of his barriers which held back deep, forgotten emotions.

Robert sat down, looking for the most strategic place to begin the difficult conversation. Qian spoke before he had chosen a path forward.

“I was taken from my parents when I was five,” he said flatly, causing four sets of surprised eyes to turn. “I don’t remember a lot about my life before I was kidnapped, but I remember both missing and wishing for those days again. Eventually, I gave up on the past and couldn’t stand to think about what lay ahead. Surviving each day, each moment, became my life.”

Robert wondered at the strength and intuition of his patient and peer. Qian’s vulnerability gave the psychologist the opportunity to explain Oliver’s trauma through the lens of the brave agent’s life.

“Travis. Jennifer. Jasper.” Their eyes turned to him, still displaying anxiety, but sadness and confusion as well. “Your son remembers his life in Colorado. He remembers being a part of a loving family. Oliver’s experience, however, has been much like Qian’s.

"Children who experience trauma like Qian and Oliver have, often think about their pasts as a different lifetime. They become detached, incapable of understanding the emotions their memories evoke. Oliver talks about his past as if it belonged to another boy, or like he watched the things he remembers in a movie rather than living them himself. In many ways, Oliver has become a different person, just like Qian has described.

“As for his future, sadly he believes he has none beyond ensuring that some of his new family, his brothers, survive.” Robert hated the devastated and disbelieving expressions on the faces of Oliver’s parents, but he was most worried about the almost blank look Jasper wore.

“I escaped when I was only a little older than Oliver, and while I haven’t yet met him, I remember what it was like to go from the hopeless and desperate life I had been living to the overwhelming world of freedom.” Qian tried to direct his words at Oliver’s parents but began to sweat as his heartrate climbed rapidly; taking several deep breaths, he turned instead to Jasper who seemed far less frightening.

“Imagine being locked a small, dark closet where the only people who visit you hurt you really bad. After a really long time, you forget that anything else exists, and you stop remembering what life used to be like.

“Then, suddenly you go from that awful and scary place to a crowded amusement park full of vivid and bright sights, sounds, smells, and people.” Qian paused, not for the people processing his words, but because he was remembering the experience he was attempting to describe in a way others might understand. “The things that were once fun and exciting are now terrifying and confusing. It is so scary that you just want to hide or scream all the time.”

Robert saw how Qian’s profound metaphor affected each of the Whites. Again, he marveled at the man’s intuition before realizing that Qian was simply reliving his own experience for the benefit of another abused boy he had yet to meet. Rare tears began to flow from Robert’s eyes as he recognized the pain Qian was experiencing himself. Using the emotion, and taking advantage of Qian’s imagery, he spoke to the youngest in the room as well.

“Your brother is very brave, Jasper. He escaped the men who hurt him and kept him locked up. Even though he was scared and overwhelmed by all the new things and people around him, Oliver didn’t hide or scream. He helped us rescue nine other boys who were taken by the bad people too. You should be really proud of him, Jasper. Your big brother is a hero.

“Does Oli remember me?” Jasper asked in sudden fear.

The question had been forming as he listened to Qian talk about forgetting his past and Robert describe other boys as Oliver’s brothers. The young boy wasn’t interested in Oli being a hero. He just wanted his big brother back.

“Yes, Jasper. In fact, you are the reason Oliver kept fighting instead of giving up.” The boy looked confused but hopeful. “The last year has been really scary for your brother. A lot of bad adults hurt him over and over again, but he told me that every day and every night he thinks about you. I think he adopted the other boys as brothers because he loved you and missed you so much.”

The psychologist realized the truth of his words as he thought about his conversations with Jasper’s older brother. Oliver talked about Jasper much more than his parents, although the man didn’t share that fact. The boy talked about missing Jasper’s birthday and wishing for the opportunity to say goodbye. The now seven-year-old had clearly been an emotional anchor and was likely the sole reason Oliver remained as self-aware and present as he had.

“I’d like to introduce you all to the other boys. There is one boy who Oliver seems to be particularly attached to. Mark is seven as well.” He looked meaningfully at Travis and Jennifer, willing them to understand the importance of the other boys to their eldest son.

“Where is Oliver?” Jennifer asked quietly but desperately.

“Please trust me. I know you have waited for a long time and endured your own hell worrying about your son. I believe meeting the other boys Oliver protected and cared for will help prepare you to respond to your son in the way he desperately needs you to. You need to understand who Oliver is today if you are going to restore your relationship with him.” Robert wasn’t a religious man, but he silently prayed to the White’s God that they would accept his advice.

“My parents never found me,” Qian said softly. “I moved on. I adapted without their love and support. Seeing you makes me wonder what my life would have been like if my family had come. Please give Dr. Fenton a chance to help you and Oliver become a family again. Please.”

Travis White stared at the suddenly small man who looked more like a wounded child than an FBI agent. He imagined his own son decades in the future and wondered what impact the last thirteen months would have on the man he would become. The father thought about everything Qian had shared, and his heart broke at the thought of him enduring everything without his mother and father by his side. A still calmness came over him as he wrapped his arms around his youngest son and his wife.

“The man on the phone, Jim, and you two are nothing like the people we talked to after Oliver was taken. I can see that you all are trying to help. It is so hard, after all this time to be patient, but we will do anything for our son, Dr. Fenton. If meeting these other boys will help us better understand and support Oliver, then that is what we will do. God has obviously placed you all in Oliver’s life for a reason, and I trust He has a good and merciful plan. We will trust you as well.” Jennifer looked at her husband, taking strength from his quiet but strong faith.

“Okay,” was all she could manage as she followed her husband’s lead.

. . .

Quinton Klein carried his small carryon into the master bedroom of his large flat located just off the Las Vegas Strip. He hated flying but had disliked the debrief with his boss even more. The King of Spades was not a patient man, and he was cautious to a fault. Despite his Jack’s assurance that the Deck was safe, the old man had continued to believe a reshuffle was necessary. Quinton had no desire to lose the time and money it would take to start over, especially after his work in Chicago the past few days.

He looked out his window at the nearby sights. The strip was bright even in the afternoon with the high desert sun reflecting off metal and glass. He was happy to be home, and even happier that the old man had finally relented when Quinton explained that he and Deuce had literally burned all ties to the former Ace and his operation.

“Fucking Kings,” he mumbled as he began to unpack.

The Deck’s four suits were each led by one of the Kings. They each had been around for decades, running loosely connected but separate operations before finally coming together. Quinton had been working for his boss long before he was named the Jack of Spades and knew enough about the origins of the Deck to know the Kings controlled everything from their seats of individual power in New York City, Los Angeles, El Paso, and Las Vegas.

For years, each King operated independently, organizing orders, sales, and trades only infrequently over the phone. The growth of Telnet and other new computer technologies had made it much easier to connect secretly with each other and with clients, which led to increased cooperation and finally consolidation almost six years before into what was now the Deck. Business was booming; Both demand and profits had never been higher.

Quinton was not one to be rash, but his King’s caution frequently cut into every other member’s potential earnings. The Jack was of a younger generation that believed their elders were quickly losing touch with the organization they ran. Charles Miller had been a risk that had netted the Deck a new and booming market in Chicago as well as a valuable centralized transportation hub taking advantage of the US Interstate Freeway system as well as cargo ships that travelled the Great Lakes.

Loosing Chicago was a blow for the Spades. In combination with Sin City, the Ace of Spades had helped the Suit control entertainment and trade for the entire interior of the United States. Acquiring, moving, and marketing their merchandise would be slower and more expensive without Charle’s Miller’s operation.

Quinton knew he would be busy in the weeks to come as he attempted to replace the Spade’s Ace in the hole. He had made mistakes and would learn from them, but having a centralized operation connecting the coasts and borders had proven lucrative and effective. He thought about Detroit, which offered similar shipping access with the added benefit of sitting directly on the Canadian border.

Head-hunting could wait until Monday, however. Quintin was looking forward to a few nights of debauchery that would be even more exciting after the blood he had spilled over the past few days. The Jack of Spades was suddenly annoyed that he hadn’t found a way to bring one or two of Charlie’s boys back home as he hungered for something fresh and exotic. He picked up the phone, dialing Two’s number. He listened to several rings before the man picked up.

“Boss?” Two said, carefully masking his annoyance at the interruption as he hurried to complete his final tasks before taking a day off.

“See if we’ve gotten any new merchandise in recently. If not, see what you can find. I think we’ve both earned a bonus.” He might not live in one of the high-rise casinos like the King, but Quintin could still order room service when he didn’t feel like leaving his flat for a good time.

“On it,” the man said, suddenly glad he hadn’t ignored the Jack’s call.

. . .

“He met with someone on the 28th floor of the Excalibur. We’ll know who soon enough.” Santino listened intently to the man who had picked up his current query’s trail at the Las Vegas airport. “He was at the casino for thirty-seven minutes before driving to his residence. We’re watching the place.”

“The boss wants us to leave Mr. Klein alone but watch for anyone coming or going. What about Mr. Mark?” Santino asked.

“He’s been busy since they landed. We’re following him as well. He’s made several short stops obviously making the rounds after a few days out of town,” Santino’s unrelated cousin reported.

“You know what they are into. Mr. De Luca is upset. They came into his town unannounced and hit one of our guys, plus the boss has his grandson’s twins staying with him. He’s feeling particularly sentimental as of late. The boss specifically asked us to relieve these bastardi of any children that didn’t originally belong to them. He’s not worried about the blood of their low-level soldiers, but he doesn’t want to start a war.” That was as close to a contract as Santino would communicate over the phone.

. . .

Roger spent over an hour in the gymnasium talking to many of the friends, family, and strangers who had listened to their pitch. It seemed as soon as one conversation ended someone else appeared to offer their support.

John Renkin knew his wife would balk at an outright financial donation, but he also knew he could make far more money for the fledgling foundation using the money they already had than he would ever be able to provide himself. Roger had accepted the man’s offer to act as fiduciary, managing the endowment he planned to create with the millions of dollars Eddie had left behind.

Likewise, although Peter Motts intended to make a large, anonymous donation, he also offered to provide an architect as well general contracting services and connections for the foundation’s various construction projects. He didn’t tell Roger that he had also called the facilities director for several downtown office buildings his company owned. He intended to do whatever he could to make Juan’s suggestion that Oliver and the other boys sleep in their new home that evening a reality.

Teddy Jackson, the Cook County Police Commissioner, was calling in as many favors as he could think of. A single call had prompted a visit from the Kenwood area fire marshal. The man had come and gone, leaving instructions for smoke detector placement and emergency escape ladders along with fire extinguishers in any rooms people would be sleeping in. Another call had the Chicago Fire Department promising to deliver those items as well as other safety and first aid equipment to the school later that afternoon.

A representative from the Planning Commission had made some calls of her own, asking a clerk to drive into the office to research the long-empty property. She discovered that the county had expanded the zoning for the lots occupied by the large building to allow for both educational and residential use at the request of Edward Vitale two years before he was incarcerated.

Eddie’s petition included plans for a row of luxury brownstone townhouses on the north end of the block, which would have been very lucrative given the location and lake views. Roger politely declined the woman’s offer to forward the plans for his consideration. He now valued the old school as much as Thomas.

The happy sounds of children playing with Sam and Brendon finally forced the attorney from the gym. He was shocked by the activity in and out of the building’s front door. Roger saw both soldiers and civilians, some he had yet to meet, carrying things large and small towards the stairs. He followed a voice barking commands from the abandoned school office, nodding at several people he didn’t know as they hurried back out into the hall.

What he found in the formerly empty space made him smile. Retired US Army Major Tony Fatone stood in front of three folding tables. Each was covered with a large sheet of brown packing paper. Someone had carefully drawn a rough floorplan of each of the building’s levels. The military man was clearly in command mode as he tracked his army’s assignments and advances.

“How goes the war, Major?” The old man glowed, feeling truly useful for the first time in years.

“I’m an Army man, Mr. Cicero, but I’m damn proud to be working with the Devil Dogs of the Sea. Those Marines came from Fort Sheridan prepared to equip an entire base.” The man saw Roger’s confused expression and laughed as he moved to the map of the building’s lowest level. “The six East-facing classrooms are being converted into temporary bedrooms. Each room will have five large, semi-private pods with a military bunk and storage locker. Dividers will be made from office cubical walls Mr. Motts is donating along with built in desks and office chairs for the boys to read, write, or draw. I sent two Marines in one of their transports to pick them up. Peter and Melissa Motts are helping Thomas and Oliver organize the bedrooms.”

The indicated names were scribbled next to the mentioned rooms on the Major's map. The man pointed next to the kitchen and cafeteria as Roger tried to grasp all that had been happening while he was talking in the gym.

“Wow,” was all the usually articulate attorney could think to say.

“The kitchen is now fully outfitted with Military pots, pans, utensils, and garbage catchers. That’s what we used to call mess trays back in the day. Both the walk-in cooler and freezer are old but appear functional.” A smile stretched Tony’s weathered face. “General Ramos is leading the kitchen front brilliantly.”

“Juan?” Roger asked, wondering when the young detective had been promoted.

“No, sir. Rosa. That woman is a force of nature. We would have driven the fascists back much faster with her in the war room.” The man found himself wishing he were twenty years younger; he would gladly ask to court the fiery Hispanic woman is he wasn't old enough to be her father. “The cafeteria has tables and chairs again, thanks to the United States Marine Corps. There are several parties out shopping and picking up donations, and we’ll be having dinner downstairs after the rest of the boys arrive, courtesy of the FBI.”

Roger noticed several small annotations in the gym and several of the Easternmost rooms on the upper floor. He pointed them out, asking the Major what was planned for those spaces.

“You have some very well-connected friends, Mr. Cicero. Between the Public Library, the public school system, and several local businesses, you have books, art supplies, and sporting equipment accounted for. That will all be here as soon as the Marines can make the rounds and return with the promised donations.” The man’s smile couldn’t have gotten bigger.

Roger found a folding chair and slid into it. He had kept largely to himself, outside of his law practice. He was overwhelmed by all the strangers who were eager to help first Thomas and now the other boys as well.

The Major watched Roger Cicero. His experiences in a faraway country long ago allowed him to recognize what most others would miss, even after hearing an abridged and sanitized version of the man’s story. Like with the boys he had met earlier, the old soldier could see the pain and fear present just below the surface of the impressive man’s public face. Tony smiled softly as he watched other, lighter emotions ripple across the attorney’s mind.

Tony didn’t know how many years he had left, but the aging man knew he wanted to spend them doing something that mattered. Roger and Thomas Cicero mattered, as did the work they were just beginning. He had unexpectedly been drawn onto another battlefield littered with the casualties of a war few would ever acknowledge. Forty-seven years before, Tony volunteered to stay behind in hell as many of his brothers pushed on towards Berlin. He felt moved to make a similar choice now.

“I’d like to enlist, Mr. Cicero. I’m not sure you need the help of a retired soldier who until yesterday felt a lot like this old building, but maybe I’m not quite all used up either.” Tony looked at the younger man hopefully, realizing as he made the offer that he needed the boys as much or more than they needed him. “I need to help.”

It often felt like the world was against him, but Roger now realized he had likely always been surrounded by people who would care if given the opportunity; People like Mike Schultz, Sally Mack, and Anthony Fatone.

“Welcome aboard, Major.” Roger paused to watch the relief and joy flood the older man’s expression. “I felt the same way when I met Thomas. He needed me. Now that he’s free, I think I need him more than he needs me.”

Tony was startled by Roger’s words that so closely mirrored his own thoughts. He had been thinking of the abused boys as victims and Roger and himself as heroes. His outlook changed in that moment as he recognized both the brokenness and potential that resided in each of them. Thomas was proof, and the teenager’s words about the old school took on deeper meaning. Each of them, like the walls surrounding them, were made stronger by the use, abuse, and trauma they had endured.

“Thank you.” The simple and often flippant words were neither as they moved from Tony’s heart through his lips; The man's eyes returned to the map of their shared objective. “Let’s make sure those boys have a place they can call home.”

. . .

Melissa was stunned by both the presence and involvement of the two men who had been so distant and cold in the past. She had hoped her father would step up to help, but her brother-in-law’s support was a complete surprise.

It would have been unimaginable even that morning that she would be walking side-by-side with her father to check on her boys as well as the niece and nephew she wasn’t allowed to know. The fact that the man who had banished her from his life included her twins when he talked about his grandkids would take some time to process as well.

They stepped quietly into the gym to find Micah chasing Mary around a circle of seated adults and kids. Melissa’s eyes met Sam’s. She saw the contented bliss in the face she was growing to genuinely love. She felt her father watching her before following the path of her gaze.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Peter asked calmly, trying not to scare his daughter with the very thing he had used to drive her away years before.

“I think so.” Melissa said softly. “Life has been moving too fast to really talk about it.”

“She’s cute.” The unexpected comment, which seemed to imply support, shocked Melissa further. “I spent some time with Thomas and Brendon before you arrived. They aren’t the monsters I believed gay people to be, which is stupid because I have always known you aren’t a monster. I was worried more about my reputation than my daughter. I always told myself that forcing you to be normal was for your own good.”

Melissa raised her head, feeling the need to say something. Peter shook his head, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I can see now that the choice I hoped you would make wouldn’t have led to happiness. Just look at John and Rebecca.” Melissa was startled and confused by her father’s words, but he didn’t elaborate. “Marrying your mother was the best choice I ever made. She truly was my better half. I hope you find that, Mel, and I’ll support you even if it means you share the rest of your life with another woman.”

. . .

“I didn’t realize you and Melissa were related,” Juan said as he stepped up, arms full of cleaning supplies, to walk with the man he was only just getting to know.

“My wife refuses to talk to her older sister, so we don’t see each other often.” John felt uncomfortable around Melissa who had followed a more honest path than he had, paying the price he had been unwilling to pay himself.

John thought about the book Melissa had given to his daughter. It was that small and rebellious gift that had moved him towards his children and ultimately to the old school building so far away from his normal world.

They stepped into the boys’ bathroom and locker room on the lower level of the old school.

“Detective, let me help you.” Hank Monroe had been watching the young detective who had so recently worked for him all afternoon. “I owe you several apologies, son.”

“I appreciate that, sir, but to be honest, I’m not sure I really knew who I was when I got back from Iraq. It has taken this case to find myself again, and you put me in the place I needed to be to meet Roger and Thomas. For that, I will always be grateful to you.” Hank was surprised by the mature and gracious response from the young man he had treated so poorly.

The three men approached old and long unused tile, porcelain, and chrome. Both Hank and John watched Juan’s back as he scrubbed the open shower room walls. Hank felt a deep sense of respect for the young man’s character and a little jealousy for his youth.

John Renkin felt other things, most of which were a lot less pure. Watching the stocky, dark-haired and olive-skinned young man work took the investor back in time. Memories he thought buried rose to the surface as another young man he had once loved refused to be forgotten. Guilt and longing warred as they always did when John entertained his secret thoughts and desires.

Both Hank and John forced themselves to focus on the brushes in their hands. Juan was unaware of the men’s thoughts behind him as his mind wrestled with his own confusing feelings for a short, thin, dark-haired man twenty minutes away.

. . .

Jennifer White was emotionally empty as she sat holding her husband’s hand. Her red but dry eyes watched her youngest son interact with nine boys who had behaved more like wounded animals than children when she had tried to talk to them. The anxious anticipation to see her stolen son had been replaced by something close to dread.

People kept telling them that Oliver was no longer the boy they remembered, but she hadn’t believed them until she met the boys they kept calling Oliver’s brothers. As a mother, she couldn’t stand the thought of her own boy looking and acting like the terrified and broken kids before her. She felt completely helpless. Jennifer didn’t understand how Jesus, who loved children, could allow innocent kids to experience the horrors these boys, her own boy, had survived.

Travis tried to ignore similar thoughts as he talked quietly with the one man he had met who gave him hope. The father needed to understand how Qian Chang had moved past his trauma to become the man he was today.

“It feels so hopeless,” he said. “How could anyone destroy the bodies and minds of these boys? It is the most evil thing I have ever seen.”

Qian wasn’t familiar with Christianity, but he had been asking than same question since he was five years old, living through the hell Travis White was struggling to accept. He didn’t have an answer for the angry and grieving man.

“I don’t know,” Qian replied sadly.

“How did you get past everything that happened to you?” The words rushed out of Travis’ mouth before he lost the nerve to ask such a personal and potentially painful question.

“I’ve spent years trying to forget, but I can’t,” Qian verbalized his thoughts, hoping something he said would help. “I had a panic attack earlier this week when I found another boy trapped in a basement. The memories and emotions never go away, no matter how much I want them to, but talking to Robert has been helpful. At first, I filled my time and mind with learning, and later with work. That’s why I’m still alive.”

Travis had called his pastor from an airport payphone while they waited to board their flight. The man told him to pray, and to trust that God would heal Oliver. Those words felt empty and inadequate as he sat next the broken but somehow whole man beside him who never mentioned God, or miracles, or grace. He looked again at the nine boys who no longer knew how to live in the world he took for granted. Travis wondered what his pastor would say if he could see the empty, young shells that had once been vibrant and happy kids.

“How can I help my son?” Travis asked as he watched Jasper hug a small boy about his age.

“Which one?” Qian asked as he saw the boys reacting to the youngest White in much the same way Micah reacted to Mary and Thomas.

“Both, I guess. I know losing his brother has affected Jasper as well, but he knows what to do better than I do, I think.” Qian smiled at Travis profound observation.

“Please don’t take Oliver away from the others. He needs you, Jennifer, and Jasper more than even he knows, but he needs his other brothers as well. Caring for the other boys has given him purpose. He would be lost without his self-claimed responsibility.” Qian thought again how his life might have been different with his birth family close. “Robert would know better, but I think the best thing you can do for both your boys is to help them reconcile their pasts with their present.”

“As usual, Qian is smarter than most of my peers.” Both men jumped as Robert’s unexpected words announced his return. “Pretending the last thirteen months didn’t happen will drive Oliver away, but finding a path forward together may connect you all more deeply than before your son was taken.”

Travis was silent for over a minute as his mind churned the things he had heard and seen. He had been so worried about making a mistake as a father. He and Jennifer had tried so hard to do everything right.

“I was going to talk to Oliver about his body and about sex. That’s why we went camping.” Travis’ suddenly scattered mind landed on the scary and serious conversation he had been dreading from the moment the doctor said he was the father of a healthy little boy.

“And you still should, Mr. White.” Robert allowed Travis’ to direct the conversation. “Oliver knows more about the physical aspects of human sexuality than you or I will ever know, but he knows little about intimacy or love, other than the meaningful moments he has shared with his brothers.”

Qian and Robert watched Travis’ face closely, knowing the conversation had moved suddenly into an emotional and spiritual minefield. Travis knew his son had been forced to have sex as well as to train the other boys to endure the same. It hadn’t occurred to him that Oliver might have initiated or participated in anything consensually at eleven and twelve years old.

“Please help me understand,” Travis said quietly as his mind struggled to understand his son’s experience in the context of his conservative and religious worldview.

Robert spent several minutes explaining how sex had become his son’s entire life. He talked about the impact sexual abuse and assault had on a developing mind as well as the role sex had likely played in the relationships Oliver had with the other boys on the farm. The psychologist used the things he had witnessed the night before as illustrations.

“It is hard for me to think about sex between two boys, especially young boys, as a good and healthy thing,” Travis admitted. “But if I set aside the things I’ve been taught and think about the things these boys have lived through, I think I can almost understand. You are trying to tell me Oliver will likely keep loving his brothers physically, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Sex has become an important part of his relationships. You can condemn it and make him feel like his love for his brothers is dirty and wrong or you can see it for what it is.” Robert said plainly in a way only a psychologist could.

“And what is it?” Travis asked, needing to hear the truth clearly and succinctly.

“Oliver has become a parent, a big brother, and almost a spouse to these boys. Think about those roles and what they mean. Over time, the boys will mature and will likely grow apart. Those relationships will change, but over the past year, your son has built unconventional bonds that have kept these boys alive and sane.

“Sharing their bodies is the only way they have had to comfort and support one another. Even though they are now physically free, it will take time to integrate back into polite society.” Robert allowed a little of the scorn he felt drip from his ironic description of the world which had allowed for the boys’ trauma. “Like Qian said a few minutes ago, the best thing you can do for both your boys is to help them reconcile their pasts with their present. For Oliver, that will likely involve sex, although it may not as well.”

Travis thought over the doctor’s words. Sex was something the church called sacred, even though most refused to speak about it publicly. Gay sex was an abomination, and anyone participating was living in sin. The church seemed happy to talk about that. The man looked at the damaged kids once more. He didn’t see them as sinners. Sex didn’t seem sacred at all when he considered the damage it had caused his son and the nine boys Oliver risked his life to protect.

. . .

Jasper wrapped his small arms around Mark again. He had thought almost entirely about his older brother since the day Oli didn’t come home. It was weird talking to these other boys who had been living with him that whole time.

The boys from the farm easily and naturally welcomed Jasper into the group. Oliver often talked about his little brother, so in many ways, Jasper wasn’t a stranger at all. Mark was especially drawn to the boy who looked a lot like Oli but in a body the same size as his own.

“I’m sorry we missed your birthday,” Mark said as he thought about the things he knew. “Oliver cried when he realized we missed it, and he never lets us see him cry.”

The boy’s quiet words brought tears to Jasper’s eyes as he remembered the fights he had with his parents over the party he refused to have and presents he wouldn’t open. He felt both happy and sad that his older brother had been upset about missing his birthday.

“You didn’t miss it,” Jasper said as he tried not to start crying again. “I’m waiting to have it when Oli comes home.”

Suddenly, Mark’s expression hardened. The boys had spent most of the day talking to FBI agents about what they remembered about home. Mark hated talking to them. He hated talking about his dad, but the worst part was realizing that Oliver and some of the others wound leave him when they went back the homes they used to live in. Mark didn’t want to think about seeing his dad again, and he didn’t want to think about Oli leaving him alone.

Jasper saw Mark retreat and felt his body stiffen. His tears were momentarily forgotten as the boy grew concerned for his newest friend.

“What’s wrong,” Jasper asked, but Mark couldn’t answer. “Mark?”

The small boy thought about his own birthday two days before. Oli made sure everyone said, ‘happy birthday,’ and even forced them all to sing in whispers. It had been the happiest birthday party he could remember. He felt Jasper hug him again, just like Oli would have done if the adults weren’t watching. His mind shifted, and he was back in the barn once more.

“I’m scared, Oli. I don’t want you to leave.” Jasper was confused and a little afraid when Mark called him by his brother’s name, but he could tell something was wrong with Mark.

“Maybe you can come to our house for the party,” he offered, unsure of how to help. “Daddy might let us go to your house sometimes too.”

“I don’t have a house,” Mark said as he realized he was talking to Oliver’s brother instead of Oli himself.

“Will your mommy and daddy let you come over to our house?” Jasper’s world was far from the one Mark grew up in, but they had one very important thing in common: Oliver.

“I don’t have a mom, and dad got fired from work. We had to move into his car. I hate my dad.” Mark’s overwhelmed and exhausted mind summarized the details it had taken the FBI hours to learn in a few short sentences before sharing the thing he had kept secret from everyone but Oliver. “My dad left me at the farm. I never want to see him ever again.”